Running Wild
by Mirlle
Summary: Faith, Werewolves and assorted beers and foodstuffs, this is a Crossover with Kelley Armstrong's Women of the Otherworld Series. Rated R for safety, this doesn't contain anything overly rude (yet).
1. Chapter One

**Running Wild**

Disclaimer: 

Sadly, neither Faith nor the Wolves belong to me, the former is all Joss Whedon and ME, whereas the latter belongs to the fabulous Kelley Armstrong. I own nothing, not even the pj's I'm currently wearing. If you haven't read her books yet, do so now.

This is my first Fic so I really am desperately new at this. The Fic is ever so slightly AU in that Elena doesn't actually watch Buffy on television, 'cos, hey! It's real! Should it become more AU i will add to my disclaimer. Spoilers are all through 'Chosen' and all four of the books Kelley Armstrong has published so far. Please review, I can't get better if I don't know where I'm going wrong. 

Chapter One

There really is nothing like a couple of years in prison to make you appreciate the open highway.

First thing I did after we kicked the First's butt and headed out of Sunnyweird was get myself a Harley and wave the Scoobies goodbye. Well, I waved to Buffy and Dawn anyway, Giles and Red were busy doing boring stuff and Wood was conveniently absent. Wouldn't have known how to say goodbye to Xander, too awkward, always will be. "Hey just thought you'd like to know I'm heading off and won't be killing you today." Nope, didn't think so, besides he still flinches every time he sees me, even if by now it's totally unconscious. He might even feel guilty if he realised.

Enough with the thoughts, I'm Faith, Vampire Slayer extraordinaire and there will be no gloom or doom for at least another ten miles. That's an order self!

God, my inner monologue sounds like Willow, how embarrassing! If the others could hear me now they'd think I'd gone soft. Well, to start off with they'd probably be surprised I know what a monologue is but after the initial startlement they'd no doubt get round to the "Faith, more than two syllables? A personal best we feel." So what if I dropped outta High School, not that there was a whole lot of education to be had there if the truth be told, other than the occasional bit of Uuggh in the school basement with, well lets face it, the entire football team. Not at the same time of course, that's a little too much kink even for me.

I had a lot of time to catch up on my reading in the joint, even learnt a couple of things, I reckon, and not just the practical stuff like Avoid-getting-stabbed-in-the showers-101. First time I realised all that reading wasn't a complete waste of time was listening to Dawn and Spike discuss her English homework, about John Donne. Turns out he wrote my favourite poem. Huh, who woulda thought it, Faith likes poetry. If that rumour ever gets out I'll have to kill everyone who hears it. Then again, it worked for Spike and he was a badass, Buffy-whipped or not. If it works for him….I kinda miss him…and Angel, they understood what it's like, being me. Well, shit happens and there's no good crying over spilt blood. Spike went out well and Angels got his whole redemption dealio and that's all as it should be. When I split from Slayer Central I thought maybe I should pop by and visit, but on second thought there really wasn't a lot for me to say to him that he doesn't know already. And there was no way I was gonna stay in Cleveland, home of the Polyester double-blend and blue eye shadow. Way too tacky, even for me.

That's the second time I've thought that in about five minutes, maybe I'm turning prude in my old age? Twenty-one years old and not a lot to show for it. I read this book when I was in the joint something about Zen and motorbikes. Thought it was kinda stupid at first but Wes made me meditate enough when he was still playing at being my watcher for me to remember how to do the breathing and stuff and I gotta say, it helped in the joint, it helped a whole lot. I'll never be a Taoist, all that Way of the Leaf crap is just way over my head but heading down the empty highway, just me, my bike and the endless road as one, well there's something soothing about it alright.

I feel kinda guilty for running out on the squad. Sure I helped them close up shop in Sunnydale and me and B aren't the only Slayers anymore so it's almost like I got proper family, but it didn't feel right yet, I got all itchy just sitting round, waiting for the shit to hit the fan, and then there was Robin making puppy noises at me all hours of the day and it just got too much, a girl just can't be expected to sit still all day. I got my own destiny and I need to be the one who finds it. I told B I was taking a holiday, that I needed to think some shit through and she looked at me with that look she has down to perfection, the look that is half pity and half exasperation and just nodded. Not that I need her permission anyway, I don't! Just thought it would be the polite thing to do or something, just seemed a good idea at the time I guess. Sure, I wanted to smack her one for good measure for making me say it, but I've started to get a handle on that whole emotional crap thing. Meditation again. Feels good to be on the go though, to be master of my own fate, I can do anything, anyone and not have to feel guilty about it.

I thought I would go head down to New Mexico, through Arizona and then on to Nevada, maybe go see Vegas, but if I go that way eventually I'll end up in California and I wanna give that state a miss for, oh, ever. So instead, I'm heading to New York, I've never been, thought I should check it out.

The Big Apple. I reckon it's a whole different world. No Hellmouth for one thing, at least not one that we know of. Although, from what I can tell from the movies, it sure would explain those cabbies. So instead of Nevada and the desert I'm in Pennsylvania, surrounded by Mormons and cheese. They do good cheese here, all those crazy people with their lacy caps and technology allergies. I gotta say, I don't get it personally, I mean I get the whole each to his own thing by why would you pass up TV? And the internet, and Playstations and all that other crazy shit that comes with it? Life's hard enough as it is, there's no need for you to go and complicate it even more. I get the bigamy thing though, typical though how only the man can get his freak on. Men. Let's not go there. I reckon they're the root of all my evil. Them and B. Not that I blame her for anything that's happened to me, I was damaged goods way before I met her, way before even my watcher died, it just didn't get a chance to express itself 'til then. All that jealousy, I looked at B and saw everything that I should be and would never have. I remember how it felt, so overpowering and just pure…bad. I still get flashes of it, when I look at her and Dawn laughing, or the look on Giles' face when he's scolding her sometimes, like there's nowhere he'd ever rather be. It makes me ache, and I don't want that feeling to fester. That's where I went wrong the last time, I just sat, and stewed and let it get to me more and more, all those things she had and I wanted. Not this time though, I'm never gonna be a slave again, not even to myself. If I want shit of my own, I'm just gonna have to go out and get it, and then it'll be mine. Want, take, have.

So here I am, Hicksville in Bumblefuck, Pennsylvania. Actually, it's not that far off from civilisation, cos I'm on my way to Philadelphia. Never been there before but I overheard a gang of bikers having a conversation at the last truck stop I was at and they were talking about some weird shit going down near Marketstreet. Apparently something nasty has been chowing down on the local girlies, three victims at last count. And since Faith's my name and weird shit my game, I'm off to investigate. Philly no doubt has a slayer of its very own by now, and we've had plenty of time to realise that Slayers really are territorial, but Giles has had over 3 months to get his Watcher groove on and that man never misses a trick. If I'm careful I can pop in, slay away to my hearts content and leave no one to the wise. Not that he won't know I've been here, Giles gave me a Platinum AmEx card before I left, amongst mumbles of I earned it and to go have a good time, and to call regularly and I charge all my expenses on it, not only 'cos hey, free stuff but also because that way they can track me should I wind up missing. I actually hugged him.

So here I am, on a rooftop, overlooking "The Last Dance". Stupid name if you ask me, just screams undead to the experienced slayer at large. Well, it does to me anyway. First thing I did getting to Philly was get myself a motel room and have the longest hottest shower ever. It never stops amazing me the amount of dirt the human body attracts during six hours on motorbike. When I felt marginally normal again, I put on a fresh pair of pants, black, and sleeveless top, also black. My choice of colour has less to do with fashion than it has with practicality, you never have to worry about what matches with what if all your clothes are a nice uniform black. Plus, I look good in it. when I finished dressing I made my way here, only stopping to get myself a Chicken Philly Cheesesteak…god…there are not enough words in the world. I could eat that shit 'til the cows come home. I've been sitting in this vantage point for about half an hour now and it's B-O-R-I-N-G. I really never have been much good at Recon. Not that anything much has been going on so far, at least not that I can see, and I can see quite a lot. The bar entrance is smack bang in the middle of a dingy little alley, these kinds of bars always are. Two bouncers outside the doors, looking suitably intimidating if you're not, well, me. Other than that there's a blue bulb over the door which must give off just enough light to read fake id's by and a streetlight off to the left, near the entrance of the alley. From my vantage point I can see not only the bar and both alleyways, but I can see over to both sides of the road as well, and at this time of night, everything is pretty much Deadsville. I've been her since eleven and the only thing worth any amount of excitement was when the bouncers kicked out three guys who were so obviously underage, it hurt. I'd be almost tempted to call it a night, but I felt something a while ago when a large group of guys went in, like the tingle I get when there's something otherworldly around. Only thing is, this tingle, was almost familiar. I could swear I've felt something like it before, just not exactly like it. I'd remember. So now, I'm debating with myself whether or not I should go in there and check it out. Technically, I'm off duty, I shouldn't have come here in the first place, this isn't my turf and I' hate to run into some sixteen year old fresh from Slayers-R-Us only to kick her ass and teach her some manners. But I've come this far and I'll be damned if I let the…thirty-seven minutes go to waste. That's valuable time I could have spent watching TV which I will never get back! Besides, my left leg has gone to sleep and I need to walk it off. So, I lower myself onto the ground, making sure to stay in the shadows; don't wanna go giving the nice bouncers a coronary now. I slap on a cocky grin and I'm off.

Getting past the bouncers was ridiculously easy. They didn't even bother to ID me. I'd almost be insulted if it weren't for the fact that I haven't been asked to prove my age since I turned seventeen. The insides of the bar pretty much match the outside, dark, dingy and in desperate need of a make-over or at least a new slap of paint. The whole place basically consists of a large room with the bar on the far side and booths along the walls, with tables arranged in a haphazard fashion around what I guess could be called a dance floor, but only because there are no better word for it. Nicotine stains the walls, but I can only tell with my enhanced slayer vision because the room is so smoky I feel the need for a foghorn. Since it's a Friday night, there's a decent amount of customers milling about the place, rubbing up against each other and trying desperately to get laid. Pathetic. But I'm not here to pass social commentary, even though I am so very good at it, if I do say so myself. Instead I narrow my eyes and try to hone in on the tingly feeling that has intensified since I entered this joint. Its somewhere off to my left, so I saunter up to the bar and grin at the bartender in my patented "Hi I'm Faith, gimme alcohol." fashion and order a beer. It works a charm. Gripping my Corona by the neck, I lean back against the bar and scan the crowd. There. The guy I'm looking for is about three-quarters across the room for me, tall with light brown hair and talking to a girl who looks like she's sixteen if that. Unless my man-eater senses are failing me he's quite tasty. He's wearing black jeans and a white t-shirt that exposes a nice set of muscles and a tattoo on the inside of his right forearm although I can't make it out through all this smoke. I scan the rest of the crowd, but as far as I can tell he's the only thing in here giving me the ooglies. From the way he's got himself draped half over the girl and half onto one of the tables, it doesn't look like he'll be leaving in the foreseeable future so I get myself another Corona and place myself in a booth directly opposite his table. I can't make out why he seems so familiar and yet totally alien, he doesn't feel like a demon and there's no way we've ever met before but he's definitely not human, even if I couldn't feel it I'd know a I was facing a predator from the way he moves.

I've been sitting here a half hour now and I'm wondering what exactly I was expecting when I notice Freakboy jerk like he's just been shot. He stares at the entrance for a split second and bolts for the rest rooms as if a herd of buffalo were on his tail. I gotta admit, this is getting pretty interesting so I peek around the corner of my booth to check out what's got him so freaked and, wow. Standing outlined in the blue light above the entrance door is another guy and my goodness; he looks like he just stepped out of GQ. Tall, blonde curly hair, loads of muscles in a non-intrusive kind of way, nice clothes and a face to make a girl roll over and die, this is definitely more like it. If it weren't for the same sort of tingly vibes coming off this guy I'd guess he was Freakboys boyfriend or something, he's got a scowl on his face the size of New England. Blondie makes a beeline for the men's rooms and I casually follow him, nosy girl that I am. Checking that no one is watching me I push open the door to the toilets and swear to myself, cos the chicks have flown the roost. The place is empty, the only sign that two men came through here is the window above one of the cubicles which is wide open and should be too high for anyone to climb through who isn't me or a monster. I'll be damned if I let those two get away from me before I've had a few questions answered so I make me way out of the window, but not before checking that my trusty stiletto is still tucked on the inside of my boot and I have a stake in my jacket pocket. The back of the restroom looks out onto an alley I wouldn't have been able to overlook from my earlier rooftop camp out and I mentally pat myself on the back for not staying put or I'd be missing all the fun. Carefully I edge along the alley until I have a clear view of the end of the alley and what I see there is enough to even surprise me. Freakboy is on the ground, twitching and unless I'm very much mistaken, breathing his last. Blondie is standing over him with a very nasty grin on his face and what looks like a big blond dog sitting on the ground next to him. Blondie absently pats it on the head and nearly looses his hand, looks like the pooch is in dire need of an attitude adjustment, but all the guy does is laugh quietly. He seems totally unfazed by the fact that he's just killed a fellow…something, in an alleyway, in the middle of Philadelphia and that Lassie has it in for him. And they say I'm weird. The next thing that happens totally surprises me, while Blondie is looking at the guy at his feet, the dog circles until it's directly behind him and…stretches. There really is no way to describe this, its not just the sight but there are quite a few noises my boosted hearing can pick up, although I kinda wish it didn't, and they sound like a mix between a dog, a cat, a person and a blender meeting under unhappy circumstances. All in all, it sounds extremely painful and then Blondie bends down over Freakboy and I can see enough of what's going on behind him to really really wish that I could go temporarily blind and forget the last…ooh, thirty seconds. The thing behind Blondie is curled up on itself in must be extreme pain as muscles and bones lengthen and contract around each other in what looks like a very painful shapeshift. I've seen enough and hoist myself up onto the low roof of what I think must be the private garage of the bars owner. I should get out of here before my scent drifts on the breeze. No wonder these guys felt vaguely familiar, I spent enough time with Oz, back when we were both still Scoobies that I should be able to recognise a werewolf on sight. The wolf though, wolf not dog, I think to myself, who by now has turned into a pretty, flat-chested blonde in her twenties, the wolf is new. When I used to baby-sit Oz on the full moon, he'd wolf out alright, but he looked more like a demonic wolverine than a fully blown canine, and unless I'm very much mistaken, were still two weeks away from the full moon. This definitely bears thinking about, so I follow the furry two-some as they take the body between them, stuff it into the trunk of a truck parked conveniently around the corner and drive off. I think I need to go back to my motel room, have a bath, give Giles a call and see if he can't shed some light on this. I do all my best thinking in the bath and this time I have a genuine mystery to be solved. I bet I'll be able to hear him clean his glasses over the phone. Yep, I'm definitely gonna phone home, but first, Pizza.


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer on first page. Thanks for the reviews, if you guys wanna check out Kelley Armstrong her website is http: and she's got three online novellas up that are prequels to her were books.  
I apologise for this chapter, I wrote it at four this morning 'cos I couldn't sleep, if my Faith seems hyperactive and ooc, put it down to sleepdeprivation and go with it.

After a minor detour to a pizzeria or three I made it back to my motel room. No vampires, demons or werewolves tried to jump me; I didn't even get waylaid by some enterprising muggers. Disgusting is what it is. Can't a girl even walk the streets at night without having to actively go looking for a fight? I haven't seen hide nor hair of anything remotely vampy in three days, if this lull keeps up I'm gonna have to go hang out in some cemeteries sporting a white nightgown and some neck cleavage, shouting "I'm bleeding! Bleeding I tell you!" I'm that desperate for a Slay.

I called Giles about twenty minutes ago and laid out the werewolf sitch for him, and after much uhm-ing and ah-ing he put me on hold.  
He Put Me On Hold!  
How rude?  
So, obviously, I hung up. I mean come on, I've got my pride right, as if being put on hold isn't bad enough it seems Giles has been taking his new role of Council Supervisory Whatsit a little too seriously because the phone played elevator music at me, occasionally interrupted by a tasteful recorded message informing me that a senior member of staff would be with me at any moment because my call matters!  
So, I've resorted to what I do best, I'm eating.  
It's a subtle form of revenge I grant you, but when Giles gets his credit card bill and sees what I spent at "Hugo's Bunshop", he'll regret the day he banished me to the telephonic fifth dimension. I'm seriously debating downing my third Chicken and Sweetcorn baguette of the night, when the phone rings back.

"Helga's House of Pain, how may we service you today?"  
"Uh….Faith?"

Oh god, it's Andrew. If there's one thing worse than listening to a hyperactive Dawn and Buffy chatting on the speakerphone about how they spent three hours shopping for nail polish, it's got to be Andrew…being himself.  
Last time I spoke to him he spent thirty minutes trying to tell me that if you take every forty-second letter in every forty-second word of every forty-second line on every forty-second page of "Life, the Universe, and Everything" and arrange them just right you end up with the REAL meaning of Life and how he thinks he's nearly got it and it has something to do with cheese. The only reason I regret not having been in the same room as him while he was explaining this is that it meant I couldn't bash his head against the wall. I should never have told him I like Douglas Adams.

"So, how's it hanging mon petit saucisse?"  
"Did you just call me your little sausage?"  
"Why yes oh…you, I have assigned all manners of names reminiscent of foodstuffs to those fortunate enough to deserve terms of endearment, and it's going pretty well. Dawn is mein kleines pumpernickel, if Anya was still around she'd be Profit-a-role…get it?…Mr. Giles…well he actually seems to object to being called a Great Big Hunk of Hero Sandwich and then when I tried to call Buffy Creampuff, she hung me upside down in the well and told me I wasn't allowed to have three sugars in my tea anymore."  
I'm feeling the urge to bite through a pillow right about now; anyone who has ever spoken to or heard Andrew speak should recognize this feeling. Instead, I go for the baguette.  
I'm not sure whether it's the actual words or the nasal whinge they're delivered in that grate more, but after five minutes of listening to Andrew I always feel the urge stuff him up a chimney, or go kick a puppy or something.  
Food also seems to help.  
"Was there something particular you wanted Andrew?"  
"Well, Mr.Giles had to rush off to look something up in a book and he said I wasn't to take you off hold and chat at you or there would be dire repercussions because the last thing you need is having your ear talked off, not that I think that's physically possible, but then you hung up and he never said anything about not calling you back so I did because I wanted to say hi. So..uhm..hi."  
I told Buffy a while ago that we should do everything to encourage Andrew in keeping up the impossibly long sentences. If we're lucky, one day he'll get so into what he's saying he'll hyperventilate and die and I'll get to eat all his hot-pockets. Not that I have an ulterior motive or anything.  
"Hi right back attcha."  
"…Uhm"  
"Something else you wanted?"  
"No."  
"Ok then."  
And I hang up. I've learnt the hard way not to draw out the farewells when Anrew is on the other line. He's got a tendency to get tearful.

Speaking to Andrew left me with the incredible urge to kill something so I rolled myself off the bed, maybe that last baguette HAD been overdoing it slightly, and bounced out of my room.  
I chose this motel in West Philly because it's slightly rundown but still cheap and clean, and I have to admit to being highly disappointed by the distinct lack of any form of gang activity. No vamps, no gangbangers, it's like the universe has conspired to bore me to death.  
Twirling a stake round my fingers I did a quick patrol along the five blocks around the motel and when that proved fruitless I heaved a martyred sigh and decided to extend my perimeter…in other words, go for a wander. Giles keeps harping on about how a good slayer always has a finely tuned plan, you'd think seven years with Buffy would have cured him of that notion, but I much prefer a system that has no method. Chaos really is more than the absence of order, it's also fun. Plus it works, just like everybody knows that if you light a cigarette when waiting for the bus, it will get there before you've had a chance to take your third drag, it's also been proven by yours truly that in order to find trouble, you just have meander around aimlessly, poking stuff and muttering things like "Ooh, what does this button do" or "I assure you, there really isn't a monster at the end of that alleyway."  
It's like demonic Brownian motion, or maybe just demonic motion or something…I really never did pay enough attention in Biology class to know what the hell it is I'm talking about.  
I like walking at night, especially if the streets are empty and I'm by myself. When I was a kid and still living down south with my ma, I used to pretend that every other person on the planet had been mysteriously kidnapped by aliens and I had the whole planet to myself. Strangely enough my shrink made a big deal of that in jail, I honestly can't imagine why. But seriously, I like empty streets at night; they're peaceful and kinda organic in a really artificial way, even if that sentence only makes sense in my mind. Plus, it makes hunting a whole lot easier if there's just you and the boogieman roaming the streets without the Happy Meals on legs lumbering about, making the place untidy.  
It's not that I don't like people, they're fun in a weird sort of way, I'm just not entirely sure I get them. I mean, they tell you one thing and then do another, they tell you to stay when they mean you should leave, totally weird and completely unpredictable in a really predictable kind of way. It's like after my mom left, I was in a couple of kids homes before my Watcher found me, and while you meet some shitty people in the child care services, not all of them are bad. There were a couple of Carers who seemed to actually live up to their job titles, and they'd tell you that you were a real person and your feelings matter and all that shit but after putting in their nine to five hours five days a week they'd just go home to their own families and not think about us anymore.  
The first thing you learn in a Home is never to trust anybody, even if they haven't done anything to you because in the end effect, everyone is always out for number one, an just because they haven't hurt you yet doesn't mean they're not going to. My shrink says that this kind of thinking lead me "down a path leading to a declining spiral of violence", that and some stuff about cigars and tunnels. What I took away from our counselling sessions was that he was a) totally obsessed with all things Freudian, and b) if you cry and tell him your parents neglected you when you were but a wee lass he'd give you candy. I really like candy.  
On reflection, this was probably not the best use of the time I should have been spending concentrating on not killing people, because didn't you know it's bad. In all honesty, talking to my cellmate Vera was a whole lot more informative than one on one session with Dr. Beg-and-I'll-give-you-a-cookie.  
Vera was a housewife who'd been abused by her father and step brother when she was little. She told me some pretty hairy stuff about the kinds of things they used to do to her, all in this monotonous voice that freaked me out a whole lot more than any of the stuff she was actually talking about. When she graduated high school, she got married to her sweetheart, a guy who beat her up regularly and generally just treated her like crap and she spent years in and out of hospital for always 'falling down the stairs'. Then one Christmas they went to stay with his sister and after he spent the entire dinner telling his family how stupid and useless she was, she waited 'til he fell asleep after which she stabbed him twenty-three times with the carving knife they'd used on the turkey about five hours earlier. She seemed particularly proud of the fact that she didn't wash off the turkey grease before she used in on her husband, strange girl Vera. You'd have thought she would have learned her lesson from her husband the jerk but apparently co-dependency is just another word missing from her vocabulary 'cos the minute she entered the joint she hooked up with this right bitch, Prissy Chrissy who's only difference from Vera's ex-husband is that she probably hasn't got a penis. Anyway, watching Vera showed me the patterns we all have to our behaviour. She goes for jerks who treat her like shit, and I'm the jerk who…well, you know. It's all self fulfilling prophecy I guess.  
Well, if living in Sunnydale taught me one thing, it's that Prophecies are bullshit. I make my own future and currently I see it being full of beer, motorbikes and donuts. I hope that doesn't mean I'm gonna and up being a cop or something. Ok, now I feel unclean, I have to go back to my room and shower. Hopefully Giles will call back and actually have some information that's helpful for a change.


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer on first page

Sorry it's been a while between updates but I'm actually on holiday at the moment. This chapter is a bit blah, but hey, stuff happens. Big thanks to my reviewers and keep them coming people.

Of the hour long conversation Giles had at me, I managed to retain exactly one sentence. Blah blah, blipetty blah.  
I tried; I really tried to listen but my brain just acts in self defence and shuts down the second it recognises Watcher-in-Lecture-Mode.  
The upshot of the whole conversation was that basically, Giles doesn't have clue what's going on. He speculates (his word, not mine) that there are different species of werewolves, something him and Wes apparently talked about, and that the difference in appearance probably has something to do with the fact that different strands of lycanthropy come from different origins, Oz looks like a demented squirrel 'cos his is demonic wereism whereas this new type probably isn't. Again, probably is his choice of word, not mine.  
So, I spent an hour not listening to Giles tell me that he knows jack shit. He did say that he had to do more research, (Giles? Looking something up in a book? Gasp!) and that he's unearthed some sort of Professor guy called Denver or something who's supposed to be an expert on animal cults and stuff, but apparently he isn't answering his phone. Shocking.   
This dude is supposed to be situated somewhere in New York, the State not the city, so I said since it's on my way I'll pop by and talk to him if he doesn't answer the phone soon.  
Stupid me, volunteering for brain stuff.  
It's in my best interest really. It seems the local slayer has been taking her job uber seriously and decimated the local demon population to the extent that I haven't got to kill anything in four days now.  
No more sightings of my doggie friends either, it's really disappointing how unforthcoming the supernatural world is to my physical needs. And yes, I am still talking about slaying. We're not all like Buffy you know.  
God, I'm glad to be leaving Philly. It's an alright place I guess, but I was going stir crazy there, with nothing to do except play with myself. Weird city, half of it is covered in murals, the other half is quietly rotting away.  
So I packed my stuff, hopped on my bike and made my way to New York, which is very cool by the way. Huge, smelly, full of people and rats with wings (commonly known as pigeons, not you know, actual rats with wings, 'cos that would be wig-some) and loads and loads of demons.  
My kinda place.  
No doubt there are a couple of Slayers around here too, city this size needs some serious protection, but I bet if I play it cool we won't run into each other.  
I spent my day wandering around looking at the sights, eating hotdogs, chatting up the demon vendor I spotted outside the Metropolitan Art Museum which is wicked cool by the way, not that we'll be telling Giles.  
He'd probably squeal and try to recruit me into his hordes of the recreationally challenged.  
The demon guy, named Mal which I find mildly amusing, was a bit useless information wise. Seems his only connection to nefarious otherworldly plots is the stuff he passes off as hamburger meat.  
When it got dark I went for a stroll, managed to find a couple of vamps trying to chomp on a homeless guy who actually had the nerve to call me a stingy bitch when I told him I didn't have any money on me. After I saved his ass and everything! There really isn't anything like New York. Good food though.  
I want to be able to enjoy my time here, so I checked into a hotel, not a motel this time, I'm definitely moving up in the world, and called Giles to check whether he's got in touch with the Professor guy yet.  
He hasn't. Big surprise there.  
Giles actually sounded pissed about that, he was all on about having to leave a million messages on the "infernal answer-phone". Guess now he knows what it's like to be put on hold.  
We decided in a joint effort, him deciding and me nodding, that he'll keep calling and if the dude hasn't answered his phone by tomorrow I should go and pay him a visit. Since I have about another seven and half hours 'til sunrise, I think I might as well go and try to find something to stick with a sharp wooden instrument. God my life is exciting.

My patrol last night was a complete and utter waste of time. Not only did I not find any vampires, I only found one demon in total, and he was in such a pathetic state, eating out of the garbage cans outside a highly suspect Chinese take-out, that I gave him five bucks and told him to take a hike.  
This is sickening. Lack of exercise has turned me into a goddamned bleeding heart!  
When I finally gave up strolling the streets of New York, I went back to my hotel room and went straight to bed. I didn't even eat I was that frustrated!  
I was having the best dream ever, in which I was chasing a giant hotdog through the hallways of Sunnydale High and was about to stick it with a grilling fork when the phone rang. I'm not really a morning person in any sense of the word so when I picked up, the only sensible thing I could manage to say was something along the lines of:  
"Neurghmrr…"  
"Faith? Dear god girl, it's 9.30! What on earth are you still doing in bed?"  
"Well, I was sleeping, thanks."  
"Patrol last night. Well, I shan't keep you, I just thought you might like to know that Professor Danvers has still not returned my telephone call, it really is most frustrating I have to say, so if you don't mind, perhaps it would be for the best if you do go down to Stonehaven in person to interview him."  
"Sure thing Giles, I've got the address right here so I'll make my way after breakfast."  
"Excellent, just see what you can find out. I should warn you, from what I have heard Professor Danvers has a reputation for being somewhat err... difficult…I believe Willow calls it cranky? Just try not to wind him up, he may be arrogant but do try to remember that we need his support."  
Jeez, from hearing Giles talk you'd think I have problem controlling my temper or something.  
"Sure thing G-man, I'll breeze in, suck up to him, get the info and breeze right out again. No big."  
"Right, good, excellent. Do try not to call me that again. Take care"  
"Yeah, whatever."  
Well, at least the phone call woke me up, now for a good long stretch, a shower and some food. Then I might as well jump on my bike and make my way to upstate New York and go see the snob. I'm so looking forward to this.

Stonehaven is gorgeous. You can see where its name came from, it's a big grey stone house set in the middle of a huge patch of land, covered in woods with a little river running from north to west. This house has got to hold the record on longest driveway in history; I thought I might starve between the post-box and the front door. This whole place screams privacy valued, complete with numerous 'Keep Out' signs, minus the landmines.  
I parked my bike, adjusted my top, (trademark black, why mess with a classic) and bounced towards the front door, and knocked with gusto.  
And then I waited.  
For like and hour!  
No, in all honesty it was probably more five minutes but I like to think that I have the patience of…something that doesn't have a lot of patience…bear with me while I think of something suitably cool. Since no-one was answering the phones or the door, I was having visions of Professor Denver or Colorado or whatever lying inside dead or dying and/or unable to answer the door.  
Well, it's not that weird a thought…Professor means old, old means alone, alone means hip replacement and horribly lonely miserable death in your front parlour with only your pets as witnesses to your untimely demise because you've fallen over and can't get up. And when the neighbours finally notice the smell (which isn't gonna happen in this place believe you me) and the nice men in the white coats come to get you, the only means of identifying you will be the registration number stamped on your fake hip 'cos after days of being trapped in the room with only your decomposing body for company your beloved corgis will have chewed your face off.  
It happens all the time!  
I saw it on the Lifetime Channel!  
Anyway, pondering these very thoughts I decided to sneak round the back to see whether there might perhaps be a conveniently open door or window somewhere, 'cos the front door wouldn't open.  
Unfortunately, when I rounded the final corner my whole rotting body theory was shot to hell because there was a woman lounging in a sun chair, catching some rays and wearing headphones which would explain why she didn't hear me knock.  
Now I am officially an evil person. I have the documentation and prison time to prove it. I offer this information not as an excuse but as explanation as to why I snuck up behind her and then coughed very loudly.  
I can't help it. Watching her squeak and jump halfway to Madagascar was so totally worth it. And I managed not to grin. Genius!  
"Hi there, I'm sorry I didn't mean to startle you."  
"Oh that's alright, I just didn't hear you."  
She's attractive, in her forties I'd say, with auburn hair, tall and somewhat familiar but I couldn't place where I've seen her before. Also, I was getting the feeling that she's not entirely human. The tinglies I was getting from her are nothing like the ones I got from the weirdo werewolves the other night but there is something a little otherworldly if not unpleasant about her. Anyway, whatever she is doesn't seem to pose a threat, so I let it go. Now, I could just up and out ask her what she is but I think that would a) be rude, which lets face it is not a big problem to me, but it would also blow my cover, imagine if I were to meet this professor guy only to start the conversation with: "Hey didya know your wife was an unholy thingamajig?" Not the most subtle conversation starter in my book and who cares if the 'Faith Book of Etiquette' consists mainly of a cover and a picture of the author. At least it means I've heard of the word, even if it's only to ignore it.   
Still smiling at the Unidentified Possibly Unholy Fiend (or UPUF for short, what can I say, Wes was my Watcher.) I introduced myself and explained my reason for being here. She raised her eyebrow at me when I mentioned the phone part and really needing to speak with Professor Danvers.  
I really hate people who can do that. I spent five whole days in prison practicing in front of a mirror and I still can't do it. I just tend to look like I'm having a mild seizure.  
"Well, the phone habits in this house do leave a lot to be desired, I agree with that. I'm not sure whether it was a good idea for you to come all the way out here though, the inhabitants of Stonehaven value their privacy."  
I smiled at her sweetly. It's another thing I had to practice. For more than five days in this case.  
"I appreciate that 'mam, and I certainly don't want to impose on anyone but it really is very important that I speak with Prof. Danvers. As soon as I've got what I came here for I'll leave you all to your much valued privacy, cross my heart and hope to die."  
"Well, I certainly hope it won't come to that."  
And with the smile that came with that last comment I know where I've seen her before. Wow, my very first celebrity.  
"Oh hey, you're that lady from TV who speaks to dead people right? I'm sorry but I didn't recognise you before. I used to watch your show all the time when I was in pr…the Pep Rally. Err, go Pep!"  
"That's right. Oh it's terribly rude of me to just have you stand there, why don't you sit down, can I get you as snack maybe? I'm afraid Clay has gone for a…err, jog with the others and won't be back for a while."  
That explains the tinglies. Magic user, or some form of diluted demon hybrid maybe. Who cares, she's just offered me food. We are now officially new best friends.


	4. Chapter Four

Here's the next chapter. I'm starting to loose control of Faith, I think it's entirely possible she's having a nervous breakdown. Disclaimer on the first page, review me please!

Jaime Vegas, TV star and all-around weird lady is a fantastic cook. Everyone should have one of their very own for culinary uses around and about the home.  
In fact, everybody should have their very own Stonehaven, I have never in my entire life seen such a huge kitchen or in fact so much food all in one place.  
Strangely enough Jaime didn't seem very impressed with it all, in fact she apologised, saying they hadn't had a chance to catch up on their shopping yet.   
From what I managed to get out of her over an omelette and some coffee is that there are several people living at Stonehaven, the owner is some dude called Jeremy and I'm guessing she's here to see him 'cos she keeps gushing about how great he is. Apparently he lives here with his cousin, the infamous Professor Clayton Danvers and Wife. Jaime hasn't actually said so in as many words but from the occasional verbal hint I'm guessing one or all the members of this family have sever paranoia issues. Well, you know what they say, just 'cos you're crazy doesn't meant nobody's out to get you.  
In fact Jaime hasn't said anything overly informative at all; all answers to the questions I've asked her have been super evasive, with much uhm-ing and ah-ing and unconvincing subject changes. A TV star she may be, but I doubt any government agencies are gonna be lining up her doorstep, wooing her into working for them anytime soon. A good liar Jaime Vegas isn't. And she seems a bit worried. She's nice enough though, a bit hyperactive maybe but I think we'll get on fine, even if she does keep blushing every time she mentions the lord of the manor.  
I was just about to ask her what I guess normal people who don't know about the things that go bump in the night would ask her, but the slamming of the back door interrupted me just as I realised that I have absolutely no idea or interest in what normal people might think.  
Jaime was out of her seat faster than a…really fast thing and mumbled something about letting Clay know he had a visitor.  
It's probably rude to listen to other people's conversations if they obviously don't want you to hear them, but the way I figure, I got given Slayer-hearing for a reason and it would just be wasteful not to use it at every opportunity that presents itself. So, I slow my breathing and really concentrate on the sounds coming from the hallway.  
"…and exactly is it you expect me to do? I realise you don't like having people in your territory if you can help it but there really is no way around this. She seems like a nice girl who as I might point out is already here, and would it really kill you to answer the phone once in a while? Because if you did, you probably wouldn't be in this mess."  
That was definitely Jaime, sounding pissed and nervous at the same time. no small feat I tell you. I can hear a man's voice growling an answer at her but whatever he said is too low for me to make out.  
"Fantastic idea. Why don't you just go and do that then? We'll be right behind you. Wouldn't want you to have to face an actual person all on your little lonesome. Although, you might consider putting some clothes on first."  
Different woman talking, probably in reply to who I assume was Danvers. The one thing that stumps me is the need for him to put on clothes. I thought Jaime said he and some others had gone for a jog?  
Have I stumbled onto the grounds of a crazed naturist cult? That sure would explain the almost obsessively compulsive need for privacy.  
A naturist with hermitic impulses maybe?  
In Upstate New York?  
Weird.  
On second thought, maybe I misheard and she just said to change into some other clothes. Or not.  
I manage to both school my frown to a totally unconcerned look AND not choke on the bite of omelette I'd absentmindedly taken while pondering the mystery of the moody naked guy.  
Entering the room behind Jaime is a young woman in her twenties, looking like she's stepped straight off the cover of those sports magazines filled with energetic young people bonding over wholesome games of beach volleyball. What made me choke was that the last time I'd seen the blonde; she'd been busily stuffing the disembowelled and rapidly cooling body of a fellow werewolf into the back of her SUV; while rambling on at her partner about the need to renew their subscription to the New Yorker.  
Well, at least she's got her priorities straight.  
This really does change things quite rapidly.  
Instead of a rampant cult of naturists, running about the woods flagellating themselves, I'm now having - probably slightly more accurate visions of the household engaged in good-natured wolvie fun.  
Which doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing, I mean, Oz was a pretty cool guy who never ripped anyone apart in bad blood…well there was that Veruca chick that one time from what I've heard of but everyone said she had it coming and that he only did it to protect Willow, and anyway, the girl was named after a fungal infection, what was she expecting?  
Hugs?  
Group visits to the local swimming pool?  
Great, now I've managed to out-gross myself.  
Well, at least the appearance of the girl, who has meanwhile introduced herself as Elena Michaels, has prepared me for the sight of Professor Clayton Danvers, storming down the stairs and in my direction in what seems the mother of all moods.  
Willow told me about how when The First came to visit her in the library this one time, it looked like some girl they'd try to help, and then managed to swallow itself. Well, this guy, who is incidentally werewolf numero dos from the night in Philly, looks like he's about to do just that. Of course this explains a lot.  
I have to admit I'm a bit disappointed. I mean, it seems cheating, the guy's a werewolf and obviously hasn't told anyone in the supernatural academic community or else Giles would have let me know.  
No wonder everyone's ranting on about him being the foremost authority on the subject, all he has to do is look in the mirror in the morning and voila, there's his subject matter.  
Clearly, he's not happy to see me, sitting at his kitchen counter chatting with his wife. So, I smile my brightest Hello-I'm-Buffy-Sooo-Pleased-To-Meet-You smile, which only grows brighter when he snarls at me. Puppy's all bad-moody. It's almost cute!  
His wife grins at him, obviously she's used to this kind of behaviour. I'm honestly surprised she hasn't made herself some popcorn so she can sit back and enjoy the show.  
"Now, now Clay, play nice. Miss Summers has come a very long way to ask you some questions, and it wouldn't be at all polite to leave her standing. In fact, why don't you make us all a nice cup of tea? You'll have to excuse Clay, Faith, but he's being himself today."  
He snarls at her and she grins wider. It seems this is one of those hate/hate relationships I keep hearing so much about.  
I wonder if this is how Spike and Buffy were behaving when they were boning in his pre-soul days.  
Actually, I think I'm presuming too much in thinking they ever so much as engaged in conversation.  
I'm not overly happy at having to use Buffy's name, it's got to be said, but people expect you to have a last name. I guess it makes them feel more secure or something, like they actually know who you are if they know both your names. Well, names don't mean shit, hell I don't even remember my own surname, it's been that long since I used it. When my Watcher took me in she told me to forget everything that ever bound me to my family, told me that they weren't me anymore. Best advice she ever gave me.

The problem now is that I don't have any questions I can ask Danvers.   
I was supposed to ask him all about the development of the werewolf myth through the ages and in all kinds of different cultures but I can see that's going to be pointless 'cos he's not going to give me any useful answers if it's a choice between protecting his nature and me. So, fast thinking is required.  
Shit, why did they pick me for this job?  
Oh yeah, I volunteered.  
Now, the logical thing to do would be to think of some random bullshit to ask him and then make my excuses and go call Giles, but I've never been exactly logical and it's entirely possible that four days of no slayage have affected my brain because when I open my mouth, what comes out is:  
"Jeez, you got rabies or something?"  
This is met with a raised eyebrow on Clayton's part – Bastard, hate him already!  
"Excuse me?"  
"Well, what's with the uber scowl? You look like you're trying to chew your own face off."  
Now he looks baffled, kinda like a wolf who's chased a rabbit to its warren only to have it turn round and ask him to kindly wipe his paws before entering its home.  
I should probably continue rambling at him before I run out of steam and he decides that eating me sounds like the best plan ever.  
"The last person I met who pulled that face on a regular basis got eaten by a giant snake, now how's that for a penis metaphor. At a graduation no less. Not that I was there to see it, I was having a slight coma at the time but from what I hear it was wicked funny to watch. Then again, according to Cordy he had an emu or possibly a Nazi up his butt, so it was probably a relief. The being eaten, not the whole penis thing," I add helpfully.  
I think I'm giving him a headache. He's closed his eyes and seems to be counting to ten under his breath. Under twenty seconds, I think this may turn out to be a personal best. Either that or I just channelled Andrew.  
"Is this what you came all the way to tell me?"  
"Nope, I was supposed to ask you this whole bunch of stuff about fairytales and anthropomorphic personifications and animal cults through the ages, but I can see that's gonna be useless, not to mention boring, so I've decided to just insult you till you loose your temper so I can legitimately kick your ass."  
"What?"  
Now I'm being stared at by three people who seem to rapidly be deciding that I'm an escaped mental patient with a death wish. In fact Jaime and Elena are backing away slowly and Jaime looks like she's looking for a small space to crawl into.  
"Yup. Then, when I've kicked your ass and you've suspended your disbelief, I can tell you the real reason why I'm here and we'll all be bestest friends forever."

It's probably for the best that before he can answer or rip my head off, the door opens and another guy carrying a shitload of shopping bags enters, pausing for a second to look at me with a bemused, almost dreamy expression on his face.  
Great, another werewolf, I really have stumbled on a veritable nest of the little buggers.  
Jaime makes a beeline for the new guy so I guess this must be Jeremy, prince among werewolves and man of the hour. Maybe vice versa.  
He looks in his late thirties early fourties, tall, with long dark hair pulled back and I'm guessing someone in his ancestry was oriental. I don't think insulting him is gonna do the trick, he's got an air of independence about him, as if he knows that any suggestion he makes is going to be obeyed without him having to make it a command.  
I was hoping I could draw Clay into attacking me so I could beat him down and assert my dominance over him, saw it on the discovery channel once, lions do it all the time.  
Actually, now that I think about it, it's possible that lion and werewolf behaviour hasn't got all that much to do with each other so maybe I should scrap that plan before I embarrass myself. I would be so embarrassed if "Hello, I'm here to kick your ass" in lion translates as "Sit on my face and tell me that you love me" in werewolf. Can't imagine Elena would be overly impressed either.  
A different tack then, maybe I'll try truth?  
After all, I'm trapped in a room with three werewolves who appear to be able to change at will and what I'm rapidly suspecting is a Necromancer, so hey, what have I got to loose other than say, my life?  
Can't say that's ever stopped me before.  
Plan decided, I step around the still spluttering Clayton and towards Jeremy with a big helpful smile.  
"Gosh, those look heavy, let me give you a hand."  
Jeremy is still looking from me to the others, for all I know he's using the werewolf variety of the Vulcan mind-meld to find out just who the fuck I am and what I'm doing in his house.  
God, I really, really need to stop hanging out with Andrew.  
I grab a bag from Jeremy's unresisting hands and start unpacking, making sure to turn my back on Clayton completely and carry on chatting  
"Hello, my name is Faith, your cousin and I were just about to have a nice chat, lovely house and grounds you've got by the way, big fan over here. Ooh Pringles, barbeque flavour too, good choice." I say in my best 'soft spoken companion to the elderly' voice. That one took me nearly a month to perfect.  
"Err…yes. It's my favourite. I don't mean to be rude, Miss Faith, but is there something specific I can help you with?"  
Looking over my shoulder I can see Clayton and Elana looking at me like I've sprouted another head and its singing the national anthem backwards, and Jaime doesn't seem to be faring much better.  
Oh yeah, the Oscar for best multiple personality disorder definitely goes to me.  
"Hmm? Oh, well you could tell me how long you've been a werewolf and exactly what breed, but if you don't feel like doing that I'll just settle for some of this Weatabix. A friend of mine used to have it with his blood, says it makes for good texture. Not that I drink blood of course, I mean, what kind of person do you think I am over here, but it's always good to have things recommended to you. Is there some kind of problem, you don't look so good."  
Actually, Jeremy is looking kinda scary…like he's wondering which tree to bury me under. Instead he takes a deep sniff and frowns a me.  
"You're not entirely human yourself."  
"Well, that's a matter for discussion, you could say I am and you could say that I'm not."  
I'd nearly forgotten about Clayton and Elana but now they stumble towards me and each take a good whiff, which is more than a little disconcerting. I'm feeling really glad I had a shower before I swung over here.  
Still, I don't like being crowded so I shove Clayton back a few steps, kinda enjoying the widening of his eyes, clearly he wasn't expecting me to be able to budge him so easily.   
"Don't get all up in my personal space like that, it makes me twitchy."  
"Well, I'm simply petrified. Jeremy, I say we kill her and dump the body. She's pissing me off."  
"Oh please try. I haven't had a good laugh in ages."  
Good call Faith, irritate the pissy wolfmonster. It's the best idea ever!  
Jeremy seems to be taking this all far too well. If I had my home invaded by some psycho calling me a werewolf while trying to abscond with my cereal, I'd be a little peeved to say the least.  
Instead he just raises an eyebrow – I'm starting to think this is some kind of conspiracy – and packs away the last of his groceries. Only when he's finished does he turn around, give Jaime a reassuring pat on the shoulder and turn to speak to the rest of us.  
"I can see we have a lot to talk about, this is all rather fascinating. How about we move to the lounge? Can I offer anybody tea before we go?"  
I gotta give it to this guy; he knows how to keep his cool. If he was Giles, he'd be polishing his glasses just about now.

AN Ok, for those of you in the known, and also those of you who are not, Clay is not Jeremy's cousin but his son (adopted). As far as I can remember from the books they tend to pretend they're uncle and nephew or something because the age difference between them isn't obvious enough to stop people from asking awkward questions.  
Jeremy is the Packs Alpha and Clayton is his homicidal bodyguard while Elena is in charge of the Pack dossiers. There are other members who will eventually make an appearance also.


	5. Chapter Five

ELENA

Somebody is going to pay for this. I know Clay's body language better than anyone save perhaps Jeremy and right now it's screaming for almighty bloody vengeance. Under different circumstances I might be amused, but the problem is, he's got a point. Clay almost always goes the violent route, not because he enjoys it, but because it's effective and necessary.

It's not like he's a _sadistic_ psychotic bastard, in fact I'm almost ninety percent certain that he gets little to no pleasure out of ripping mutts to shreds.

But the fact is that he has a point.

When it comes to threats concerning the Pack, his instinct tells him to strike, fast and clean. The real problem is the girl currently in our house, she's a threat and Clay is not above killing humans, not by a long shot. Just not for fun.

The fact that this girl seems to have a deathwish only makes it more confusing.

And she must be suicidal; nobody who has heard of Clay's reputation would just barge in here and threaten to kick his ass.

Repeatedly.

As in, more than once.

It just isn't done!

The other alternative, that she has no idea about his reputation is even more unbelievable, she knows we're werewolves; she didn't bat an eye when Jeremy said she wasn't entirely human and she's still _smiling._

She must have heard of us!

Clearly she's insane.

The only thing we can do now is ascertain the extent of the damage, why she's here, what she wants, how she knows about us and what exactly she is. After that we can figure out where to bury her and how deep.

If only she wasn't so goddamned _cheerful_, it's starting to get really creepy!

After Jeremy shooed us all out of the kitchen, we made our way to the lounge and let the interrogation commence. The whole setting is so fucking ridiculous, Jeremy in his chair by the fireplace, Jaime pacing behind it, Clay and I sitting in the sofa chairs to his right and Faith meekly deposited on a loveseat facing us all.

All in all the entire set up is way too reminiscent of the exposition scene at the end of every Victorian crime novel I have ever read for me to be comfortable.

By the way Jaime is twitching, I'm guessing that I'm not the only one who expects Faith to jump up any second now, shouting "I conclude Vicar, it was Mrs. Peabody, with the pruning shears, in the Geranium room," before braining Jeremy with one of his prized Biedermeier Vases and jumping out of the window in a flurry of hysterical cackling.

So far however, there hasn't been any exposition or in fact GBH by priceless Porcelain, just much staring, and in Clay's case, growling.

It's got to be said for Faith, while the girl is clearly a complete basket case she is taking this all remarkably well.

Or maybe that's because she's mental.

Dismissing Clay's attitude by sticking her tongue out at him, she threw one of her legs over her chairs armrest the moment she sat down and now she's grinning at Jeremy.

"So whatdaya wanna know pops?"

She just called Jeremy pops. I wish Nick and Antonio were here, there's no way they're going to believe any of this when I tell them later.


	6. Chapter Six

This is fun.

I should do the whole research thing more often; it's by far more entertaining my way than watching Giles get his geek-groove on.

Just how often does he have four Unholy Creatures - possibly from the Foul Pits of the Neverworld - spellbound and eating out of his hands like little puppies?

Not that I would actually hand feed Foul Fiends so much as, you know, lop off their heads and scatter their entrails. The feeding thing would just be gross. For all I know Fiend Saliva is highly corrosive and I'd have to invest a fortune in hand-cream just to repair the damage.

Better stick with the whole stopping-the-spread-of-their-evil deal. It's so much simpler in the long run.

Where was I?

Oh right, evil.

I don't think that any of the occupants of the room I'm currently in actually fall into the evil camp per-se, I mean I have at first hand experienced that they can be callous and crass, at least towards their own kind and the Jury is still out on the amazing personality deficient Clay.

However, the last time I checked, having a facial expression arsenal consisting only of snarls, growls, scowls and sneers isn't a crime, just unfortunate.

Maybe the wind will change and his face will stick like that. Not that I think anyone will be able to notice the difference. At the very least he'll get his comeuppance in wrinkles.

I personally have never prescribed to this whole, black and white philosophy of morality, if you believe that things are either good or bad and never in between, how do you explain Jerry Springer?

Or mars bars?

Or the Sci-Fi Channel?

Nope, I'm a friend of the good old moral ambiguity, and not just because I'm still not entirely sure just which camp I actually belong to. Sure, jail taught me my lesson- killing bad- crocheting evil, but what does that actually mean?

I get that you shouldn't kill defenceless little Assistant Mayors who are only looking for you to spill their weasely little guts about evil plots afoot and then when you've realised what you've done, you should definitely not go tell the nice Watcher that Buffy made you do it, but really, how often does that actually happen in one lifetime? In the end effect, I think this whole no-killing-humans rule for Slayers is stupid.

That doesn't mean that I think we should have carte blanche to do whatever we want, Slayers may be the supernatural police force but that is not the same thing as being a killer and we should never feel that we are above the law, because then things like me happen.

However, I think that it's this whole no killing humans thing is a rule that leads to the belief that all demons are automatically evil and all humans are basically good.

Which they aren't.

The scariest thing about evil is when it has nothing demonic to it whatsoever.

I guess the point I'm trying to make is that the crimes I committed were wrong, and I had succumbed to the darker side of the force. I realize that it was wrong to kill the assistant mayor and that guy Andrew keeps insisting was a Vulcan expert.

They were innocent.

I killed them.

I regret it but I'm not going to cry about it. There's no point. But the fact is, I cannot promise to never kill another human being, I really can't. In the joint I saw such examples of human depravity that I think that under certain circumstances, I would kill again, as a last resort, but a resort I am willing to take. I realize that I have no right to be judge, jury or executioner. That being said, sometimes, someone has to make the decisions that have to be made, when other people cant, even if you know you're going to pay for it.

I wonder if this is how Cromwell felt.

While I've been pondering on this line, the wolves and Jaime have not stopped staring at me. Clay is still doing his I'm-a-hardass growl which (deserves nothing but a sticking out of the tongue by yours truly), Elena is alternately staring at me as if she's filing every move I make for later and sneaking glances at a set of vases on the mantle piece while Jaime has discovered a bottle sherry and is medicating her nerves and Jeremy is looking at me.

Just…looking.

I can't read him at all, he's lot calmer than I would have expected from a werewolf alpha, Oz non-withstanding. His head is cocked slightly to the right and he's studying me, without staring. He smiles at me slightly and I can't help myself, I smile back.

I like him, he's got minerals.

"So whatdaya wanna know pops?"

That earns a snort from Elena; maybe I should tune down the insolence just a spot? At the very least I'll be saving Clay from death by apoplexy, the poor dear looks like he's bust a vein. Jeremy is still smiling though, his eyes flicker to Claytons red face and for a split second his smile turns into a grin.

"Why don't you tell us something about yourself, Miss Summers?"

Ah, it's share time.

"Ok, well, as we've already established, my name is Faith…you can drop the surname, Summers is my highly irritating semi non-blood-related sister…so just Faith will do. Uhm, I'm from Boston originally but I've spent a lot of time down south, I enjoy Thai food, mud wrestling and drum 'n bass. My favourite colour is black and I'm not really a morning person. How about you?"

Stony silence, then:

"Black isn't a colour."

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Jaime Vegas, international superstar and smartass extraordinaire.

"You're right, my bad. How about dark red?"

That get's a nod from Jaime, apparently my choice is acceptable.

Jeremy remains unruffled, even Giles would have cracked by now.

"How fascinating. And may I ask, Faith, what is it that you do when you're not indulging in Thai food or mud wrestling? Something that would explain your presence here for example?"

"Oh you know, this and that, I duck, I dive, I wave and I uhm…weave? I guess you could say I'm a field agent of sorts, working for the Council and whatnot."

That gets a reaction from everybody in the room, particularly Elena:

"You're attached to the council? I've never seen you at any of the meetings, who do you represent?"

"Myself mainly, thankfully we've got Buffy so I don't have to make nice to the suits. Being the second oldest really does have its perks."

"No I mean what race do you represent? Paige would have told me if she was sending one of hers…not that she has anyone now that I think about it…and you don't smell like Aaron or Cassandra. Adam handles his end, so what exactly are you?"

Just as I'm about to answer her question, Jeremy leans forward and asks:

"Just exactly what Council do you represent?"

Ok, now I'm confused. What the fuck are they talking about? What Council? There's more than one? And who are these people they're chatting about?

Also, I resent people sniffing me, it's icky.

"The Watchers Council of course."

"Is that like Trainspotters Anonymous?"

Ouch. I think Jaime's had enough sherry for today.

"What? No! Do I look like I wear anoraks?"

I'm feeling a little bit off balance. Suddenly I'm aware what it must be like to be facing me. Elena on the other hand is seemingly unimpressed:

"So what exactly is it that you watch? Trees? Birds? Squirrels? Impressive rock formations in the sewers of downtown Manhattan?"

"What? I don't watch, a Watcher watches. They observe …supernatural things…like demons and stuff. Monsters, things that eat people? I don't know, it's not really my department. If you're that interested I'll get Wes to send you his CV, it'll have you snoring in seven seconds flat. I'm a Slayer. You know, she who wields the pointy stick and sarky come-back?"

Now everyone is looking just as confused as I'm feeling, everyone except Clay who actually has the gall to laugh at me.

"No you're not. There's no such thing as Slayer, they're a myth, a fairy tale."

Look who's talking.

"That's quite rich coming from a werewolf. And don't call me a myth to my face, it's rude. I'm just as much of a non person as you, thank you very much, and I have feelings too."

"What a load of rubbish! That Travers guy sent you, right? Look, I told him two years ago, I'm not interested in joining a cult that worships little make belief teenage girls. Why don't you go on and toddle back to your boss, tell him we're not interested in any of the games he wants to play and we'll forget all about this little episode. You don't talk about us and we won't be forced to eat you, how does that sound?"

Did he just threaten to eat me? That is so gross! I'm having really nasty mental images right now, but more importantly I'm wondering why Giles never told me they tried to hire this guy.

"Travers tried to recruit you? No wonder you hate me, the guy's a dick. Or was, I'm sure you'll be happy to hear that he got blown up by incorporeal bottom-feeding Evil. We're all very sad about it. The Council is under new management now, and I think I can safely promise that no one there will want to work with you. Ever.

You horrible, mean person you. For your information, I have not been a teenager for almost a year now, thank you. Let me tell you once and for all, I am not make belief. There's no need to get all personal and resort to name calling."

Bastard.

I'm going to sulk now.

Ha! They all deserve to be locked in a room with Andrew.

After he's had three cups of coffee.

Now that everyone has settled down a bit, Jeremy looks up from where he has been studying his nails for the last five minutes and calmly speaks in my direction.

"Right. I think I speak for every other than Clay when I say that I didn't actually understand a word of that. Could you start again from the beginning please?"

I am never volunteering again.

AN:

This chapter sucks. You know it, I know it. I might revise it at some point, but it annoyed me so much I just had get it over and post it.

I've tried to space out the lines and make it more readable, I hope this helped?

Slight reference to the film Snatch, anybody find it? Also, since Canon never actually states how old Faith is, I've decided to make her a year younger than Buffy which means that by my calculations she's now 22. Then again, I failed maths so I could be horribly wrong. Just pretend it was deliberate and go with it.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

Following Jeremy's admission that he hadn't understood a word Clay or I said, it was necessary for us to go through the entire exposition scene again, only this time in detail. At one point, Elena got up to get a flip chart and some paper so we could all compare notes…

The only upside to this whole debacle was that I finally got to do the Slayer speech! Stupid Buffy always gets to do it and I never have, which is probably why I couldn't remember anything past "…one Girl with the strength and speed to stop the vampires…" and had to make it up as I went along.

I didn't make any overly drastic changes, I mean sure, the world has now gained a couple of supernatural creatures who think that a Slayers main strengths are a mean backhand and the stamina to always be first at an All-You-Can-Eat buffet but I say its all in the name of subterfuge and my sisters will thank me for it some day.

After much muttering and in Clay's case death threats, I was allowed to call Giles to give him an update on my situation. When I finished shouting at him to damn well check his records before sending me out to do legwork, I was ordered to hand the phone over to Jeremy so I went to sulk.

Apparently, the Pack doesn't entirely trust me not to leave the property and sell my story to the _News of the World_, so I've been grounded.

This is so unfair, I'm deemed untrustworthy, but Jeremy feels fine blabbing the story of his life down the phone at Giles, whom he has never even met before!

It's the goddamned accent I tell you, for all Jeremy knows Giles is a Ornithologist with a penchant for women's shoes made from werewolf leather, but all he has to do is be all British and the Pack fall over their feet…paws…whatever, to give him information. I really need to get myself an accent.

Maybe Scottish? I could pull off Scottish.

All I need to do is give myself a dodgy sounding surname, something like McGoogal maybe, perfect my Connery-esk lisp and I'm sorted.

Urgh…I think I'm channeling Andrew.

I'm just so bored!

I haven't had a decent workout in days, thanks to Giles and the ever more cowardly demon population of the United States of America. I'd go pick another fight with Clay so I can burn off some of this excess energy but I've been strictly forbidden from antagonizing the carnivores. Apparently it's for both our goods. That and Giles says it's bad manners to assault someone after they've offered you crackers.

I went to whine at Elena to take me for a walk, who just sighed in my general direction, muttered something about never ever getting a puppy and told me to hold on a couple of hours longer.

This I can deal with, it's not quite sundown yet, and everyone knows all the cool evil things don't come out 'til gone ten. I think that maybe it's some kind of demonic faux pas or something, like wearing white shoes after Labor Day.

* * *

I'm in a foul mood.

Sure, I was eventually allowed to go on patrol, but I had to make one concession- yup, that's right, Faith got a babysitter.

Apparently, the reason why I had to wait to go out is that I've been getting on the nerves of everybody in the house so they forked me off on the first unwary to walk through the door.

Earlier this evening, two more werewolves (just how many of the little fuckers are there anyway?) arrived at Stonehaven and after much manly backslapping they drew straws about who got to take me out. None of them were overly keen; I'd be insulted if I wasn't so damn happy about getting out to play. I guess it could be worse though, out of the new guys Nick really does seem the better choice than Antonio, and not just 'cos he's young and kinda sexy looking.

Damn hormones, I'm so wound up at this point even Jaime is starting to look good to me. Note to self: Get a proper work out pronto and never ever mention the former to Willow!

As soon as the loser, or in my mind incredible winner was announced, I pounced on the - somewhat reluctant –Nick and dragged him out to what I shall jokingly refer to as the town centre. At least I hope it's a joke, I shudder to think these hicks might actually consider this to be civilization.

Nick seems to be a bit uncomfortable in my presence which is odd because at first he was big with the charm and the flashy toothy grins. My guess it's got something to do with the fact that Clay and Elena dragged him off for a little 'chat' earlier, actually now that I think of it he did look a little bit green when he came back.

I wonder what they said to him?

Anyhow, when I explained to Nick that the point of this little outing was for me to get a couple of slays in so I wouldn't get trigger happy around his little doggy friends, he seemed to be genuinely puzzled. Apparently Stonehavens occupants are adamant that there are no vampires in their immediate vicinity because a) they know some vamps who belong to their creature-feature council and b) no demons would be stupid enough to trespass on their territory.

Obviously it was Clay who came up with the latter.

I've been musing on this little monster rally of theirs and I have to admit, I'm honestly confused. When we were all talking during our earlier sharetime, the wolves seemed a bit taken aback by my job description.

It seems that they're not only shocked by the fact that I am effectively supernatural pest control, but at the sheer volume of work I go through per night. To my answer at Jeremy's question of roughly how many vamps I've staked in my life, he went completely white and muttered something at Elena about Cassandra having a lot of explaining to do. When I asked him, he told me that he'd been under the impression that there are less than a hundred vamps in the world today.

Eventually, I managed to stop laughing.

* * *

So here I am, in the inevitable place I always seem to end up in, a seedy, dingy little bar. This one is slightly worse than most of its predecessors because it has - shudder - a _theme._

Yup, I'm in a cowboy bar, and to my eternal shame and nausea every second person in here is sporting a hat, some boots with spurs or both.

The bar tender is wearing a shirt with _fringes_! Oh the things I put up with for the safety of mankind.

Thankfully I spotted a couple of vamps almost the second we got here, so hopefully I'll be able to make my escape before the ritual square-dancing commences.

Wincing with pain at the deluded bartender's ensemble, I managed to order both myself and Nick some beer with out letting loose with fashion advice a la Cordelia Chase. Honestly, the girl's never been on my Top Five Favourite People of All Time list, but right now I am so feeling her pain!

Nick'd been very quiet this whole time and when I pointed out the vamps playing poker in the corner he raised his goddamned eyebrow at me.

That is it! I am so taking 'Facial Expressions 101: How to Make the Undead Quiver' when I get back to the Council.

And it's all thanks to this bunch of stupid furry cunty-arsed bastards who insist on continuously demonstrating their goddamned superiority in muscle control!

Anyhow, getting back to the subject at hand, Nick point blank refuses to accept that those are in fact vampires. According to him, he's met a vamp before who was nothing like those guys in the corner and even though they smell a bit weird maybe I've been out in the heat too long because everyone knows that my earlier speech about sunlight and crosses was just a collection of old stereo types.

And then he called me an Anne Rice fan girl.

I have to admit that at this point my vision became clouded with red and I must have blacked out because when I came too, Nick was on the floor clutching his balls and whimpering.

Somehow, the bottle of beer in my hand seemed to have been crushed, so I reckon I've got the perfect excuse for ignoring the pitiful noises coming from my knee level while I busy myself carefully extracting shards of glass from my hand.

And no, I don't feel guilty in the slightest! What exactly was the bastard expecting, calling me….that!

Unfortunately, werewolf balls seem somewhat more resilient than I gave them credit for, because Nicks managed to get back up on his feet. Next time I'll put a little more Slayer strength behind the knee to the groin. Nevertheless, he's still a little red in the face, and I can't help smirking victoriously at the painfully careful way in which he is propping himself up against the bar. Ha! 1-0 to the Slayer I'd say.

"That," he says taking a long, laborious breath "was uncalled for."

"Not in the slightest." I snarl back at him. "I happen to think you had it coming."

Thankfully he stays quiet.

At least Wolfboy has the sense to know when to keep his mouth shut, and I'm a little alarmed 'cos right now I'm feeling the inexplicable urge to simultaneously jump him and stab him with the remains of my beer bottle.

As I was saying, stupid hormones. I wonder whether you can have them removed? Must remember to ask Willow about that.

Now that Nick's wheezing is no longer intruding on my senses, I shift my attention back to the vamps in the corner. There are only two of them, barely enough to work up a sweat and it seems pointless and a trifle rash to take them on here. Oh, and innocent people might get hurt in the process, although ridding the world of a handful of hat-wearing line-dancing weirdos is sounding pretty attractive right about now.

Rolling my eyes at the universe for picking on me I outline the plan to Nick.

"Right, now listen up. We're gonna sit here and not squabble while we wait for the teeth to make their move. Then, we're gonna get up nice and quiet and follow to wherever it is they're going. When we get there, you're going to stand back like a good little boy while I clear up the mess and then we can skip back home hand in hand and report to your master. How's about that?"

I smile my brightest, fakest smile at him, which only grows a little brighter when his face darkens. Apparently someone doesn't like being patronized, who would have known?

"Why do you want to follow them? Wouldn't it be easier to take them in an alleyway out back?"

Aw, that's so cute, his forehead wrinkles when he's doing heavy thinking. And is it me or is all this talk of 'taking' things in alleys a turn on? Nononono, bad thoughts, bad thoughts! Stupid men with their pretty faces. Maybe I should knee him again just for good measure? Oh hang on, he asked me a question, didn't he.

"Err, following, right. We should do that because…because there could have victims! Stashed away all lonely and helpless. Or maybe some more of their toothy friends for me to beat up, I'm really not picky, either one will do."

Good one, that actually made sense. Yup, he's nodding, it seems he agrees. And apparently so do the vamps, because they've chosen this very moment to abandon their cards and make their way out.

Subtly, well more subtle than Nick anyway, who just slams down his bottle and stomps towards the exit, I head off to follow the vamps. It's just occurred to me that as a werewolf, Nick should be able to follow the vamps by scent. Maybe I ought to let him lead?

Just to be on the safe side of course, it has in no way got anything to do with an urge on my part to walk behind him so I can stare at his ass. Honestly!

* * *

AN:

Yup, evil, I know ;)

The quote from the Slayer speech was probably wrong, but then again, this is Faith we're talking about so I think it's entirely in character for her muck it up. Or so I keep telling myself. Also, as you may have noticed, I don't have beta, I correct my mistakes as best as I can but…shrugs.

If you find any glaringly obvious mistakes do let me know so I can correct them.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

Interlude in Something Sticky

Nick

I can't believe I've let myself get talked into this. Of course I got stuck with the crazy chick. Good old Nick, let's push him around a bit, we all know he won't push back. Sometimes it really sucks being the nice one.

When dad and I arrived at Stonehaven, Clay and Elena didn't waste any time telling me about Faith. It was quite amusing actually, one of those rare moments when they completely agree with each other without noticing. Very rare indeed.

They told me that her name and her occupation, a so called Vampire Slayer. Can't say I've ever heard of those before, and Cassandra and Aaron sure as hell have never mentioned anything like it. By the time I thought to ask Jeremy he'd already barricaded himself in his office with my dad and it didn't look like they would be coming out any time soon. I'm pretty sure they were planning damage control.

So, I had to get the information from Clay and Elena instead, it's a good thing she was there because Clay, intelligent as he no doubt is not only has problems controlling his instincts but also his emotions. His message still came across loud and clear though, he doesn't like Faith, not in the slightest.

"What is she even doing here?" I asked when they told me about the strange girl I hadn't got to meet yet, "What were you thinking letting a human onto the grounds?"

"We didn't _let_ her do anything Nick, she just wandered on in." Clay told me. I've known him since we were kids and I can tell when there's something wrong. "Elena and I had gone for a run and Jeremy was in town to grab groceries so we weren't here when fucking Jaime invited her in."

"That's not fair Clay," Elena's voice was softer than I would have expected, considering Clay just insulted a friend of hers.

Elena and Clay's relationship has always been a little odd, not only because werewolves generally don't have relationships and she still resents him for him turning her, which she essentially considers a major betrayal. If there's one thing you can always count on with Elena, it's that she won't brook any nonsense when it comes to Clay's behaviour towards the people she cares for, which makes for a highly entertaining time whenever we see Paige.

But this girl, there doesn't seem any reason for him to be so worked up over someone who is essentially non-threatening.

Sure it's not especially pleasant to have your territory invaded, but I actually have a fondness for humans, especially the ladies, unlike Clay who doesn't actively hate so much as consider them a general annoyance and waste of space. I really wonder sometimes if there's anything he actually cares about other than Elena and the Pack. And his books, freak of nature that he is.

"What's so special about this chick? How'd she find out about us anyway? And more importantly why should I care?"

"Erm… she sort of found out about us by accident…remember that mutt who was killing girls in Philadelphia? Well Clay and I went out to clean up after him and, er, she kind of, sort of…saw us," Elena has the grace to look embarrassed and I have to admit that I'm surprised. They're bitching may be irritating and constant, but Elena and Clay still make the best team we have in the Pack, and the combination of his brute force and reputation and her knowledge of all the mutts make them a formidable weapon. Therefore the fact that a human girl not only managed to watch them, without their knowledge and then came here to confront them about it, well, the mind boggles really.

"What is she doing here, why haven't you got rid of her?" I'm not particularly fond of killing people, pack werewolves don't kill humans unless absolutely necessary but if this girl knows about us she represents not only a danger to the Pack but the supernatural world in general and I'd say that situation warrants the means.

"We can't," Elena's reply when it came was short and flat, "she knows about us and she seems to have taken out insurance, told some guy all about it and he apparently expects regular updates or he'll blow the whistle on us. And anyway, she's not entirely human, or at least that's what Jeremy says, she hasn't got any interest in exposing us."

"What do you mean she isn't human? You said she was," I looked from Elena to very uncomfortable looking Clay. His behaviour is starting to make sense to me now. His every instinct is telling him to kill the girl and get rid of her body, to protect the Pack at all costs. But those two instincts are clashing and he can't do one without the other. Poor baby.

"I guess it's one of those things we'll have to take his word for," Elena answered me with a shrug, "I personally can't tell the difference. She's completely mental though, practically called on Clay for a shootout at high-noon. And he," at this she jerks her thumb at her nemesis/pseudo husband/bodyguard, "says that there are some myths he's read, which refer to the legend of the Slayer, always thought they were a load of old crap but it looks unpleasantly like they may have been based on truth."

"So, what are those myths?"

"The Slayer was supposed to be a mystical warrior endowed with the strength and speed of ten men," Clay's voice hoarse as he speaks, as if it's taking him a lot of effort not to go tearing out the door to rip the girl's throat out then and there, "Always only one would exist at any given time and they were supposed to exist purely to hunt supernatural creatures, things like us, to hunt them and kill them wherever they would find them. When one died, the next would be called, no matter what the circumstances of death they would just keep coming and coming. Always teenaged girls, they barely lived longer than a year after having taken on their new responsibilities. They're supposed to be a myth, they're not supposed to be real and they're definitely not supposed to be sitting in our fucking kitchen _right now_, drinking tea and playing hopscotch with Jeremy's stupid girlfriend!"

Ah, I think we've just uncovered the root of Clay's problem. There's a predator in the house, one that he is unprepared for, in the house with Elena, and with Jeremy. I'm seriously surprised he hasn't tried to kill her yet. Inside his own head, Clay is probably screaming.

It looks like he can see what I'm thinking because all he says is, "He forbade it."

Shit, Jeremy gave Clay a direct order. He doesn't do that very often, while Jeremy is the Pack Alpha he rules by suggestion rather than force. Plus, he's actually rather nice so none of us have a problem doing what he asks of us. But for him to give a direct order to Clay means that he's completely serious, we all know that Clay is no more able to disobey Jeremy than he can grow a pair of wings and fly to Uranus.

Actually, now that I come to think of it, there was that one time, where Elena was kidnapped and we had to drug Clay from freaking out. Good times, one and all.

"So exactly what is it you want from me? As much as I love you both I really don't think you dragged me in here so we could all catch up."

"Well," Elena looks up at me archly, I hate it when she gets that look on her face, it usually means I'm about to be taken to the cleaners, "we were wondering if you would mind very much taking her out. She keeps whinging at me about taking her out on parole or something and it's driving me crazy. I'm sure she's a lovely girl deep, _deep_ down but I think it was a mistake to let her eat all that sugar, I swear she was doing handstands on the upstairs railing when I came out of my room earlier. It's creepy! Plus I'd quite like to enjoy some time with Clay on my own, and I can't do that because he's so tense that he keeps jumping at the slightest sound."

Oh gods above, I'm being sacrificed so Elena and Clay can go about their sex-life undisturbed. Why is it always me? Hurridly they explained that I should take her now, before I changed my mind and preferably as far away as possible, maybe lose her altogether. Also, I should keep her away from sharp, blunt, hot, cold and above all pointy objects and not let her assail innocent bystanders.

And now here I am, faced with the evil equivalent of the energiser bunny. After much sarcastic byplay she kneed me in the balls. Can't honestly say I know why, I happen to quite like Anne Rice; her overly dramatic romanticism is just endlessly amusing. In fact, I'm waiting for the day she writes about werewolves, my plan is to buy every copy published and wallpaper Clay's room with it.

Still, I don't think bad fiction deserves quite such a violent reaction.

I suppose for now, it would be advisable to just smile and nod a lot and go along with everything Faith has to say. That way, most of my essential organs might still be in working order by the time I take her back to Stonehaven. Clay and Elena owe me so big for this one….


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Eight**

****

I am feeling generally quite resentful about having a babysitter on patrol. Sure, it's always a good thing to have some backup and it would make sense that werewolves make wicked fighters, but I swear to God, if Nick clicks his tongue at my vamp fighting strategies one more time, I will not be held accountable for my actions.

After our little altercation in the bar, we managed to strike an uneasy truce, mostly based on Nick's ability to stalk the vamps without needing to maintain line of sight, quite the useful little skill to have I feel. If it didn't come with the unfortunate side effects of a real hate-on for postmen and the inexplicable urge to piss against lampposts, I might even be tempted myself. As it is, I think I'll stick with the slayer-y goodness.

Our little moon lit stroll has been disgustingly uneventful so far, occasionally one of us will say something hateful to the other and the monotony of trailing something I can't see will be broken by flying barbs, but there are only so many dog related insults I can come up with under pressure before they start to sound repetitive so I've decided to exercise some rare restraint and am keeping mostly quiet.

Truth be told, it's because I'm saving my best material for later, Nick just isn't worth quite the same effort as Clay.

I have to give him his due though, he is an excessively effective pain in my ass, at the slightest sign of imperfection - he pounces and holds on for dear life.

I mean, a person walks into a lamppost _one measly time_ on account of being distracted and all she get's for the next couple of hours are snide comments about so called enhanced senses. It's really infuriating is what it is. And he keeps insulting my hairstyle.

All in all, I'm starting to wonder if the inhabitants of Stonehaven might not actually thank me if I accidentally kill Nick and stuff him up a drainpipe, he is practically asking for it after all.

After he attempts to trip me up for the third time running, (vainly I might add - it's not like I'm stupid) I turn my full Slayer glare on him and all he does is snicker at me. I suppose I can't really blame him, apparently he's known Clay since they were kids, that kind of experience will probably desensitize you to almost anything.

"What?" That came out as more snarl than words. I wonder whether I might be pms-ing. It would explain the stronger than normal urge to do some serious violence.

"I asked you how we're going to kill these bloodsuckers when we find them," he says pouting at me. I hate men who pout, "I know they heal really rapidly and I honestly can't remember what Paige told us about killing them, so you got a plan? A serious one? None of that Holy Water bullshit."

Paige, I think she's the witch he's been prattling on about for the last aeon. Well, from what he's told me, their idea of witches sound pretty useless. Wait 'til I tell Red that apparently, she isn't even human - I can see it already, she'll probably go all black-eyed and veiny and turn me into something slimy. Note to self….get Andrew to relay the news.

But seriously, these people have some seriously skewed ideas of supernaturals other than themselves. Witches aside, I'm pretty sure I don't want to know anything detailed about vampires, at least not judging from the reaction I received when I asked Elena and Clayton; they mumbled something about skanky, leatherclad psychopaths (strong words I feel, coming from Clay in particular) and changed the subject. Elena just snapped her fingers at me and said something about reminding her to change her cell phone number…just what the hell does that have to do with vamps I ask you?

"Don't need a plan," I reply loftily, twirling a stake between my fingers, "vamps are easy, and I already told you how to kill them earlier only you were oh so busy being judgmental, remember? Incidentally, that was right before the unfortunate meeting of my knee and your groin, I'm sure the pain will ring a bell, want me to refresh your memory?"

Strangely enough, the only answer to that is a dark scowl in my direction; I wonder if it's something I said.

"Loads of things work on them, sunlight, decapitation, fire….what's so funny?"

He's laughing at me, and not even doing me the courtesy of pretending that he's choking on something such as, oh I don't know, his ginormous ego maybe?

"Ok, please don't hit me again, but have you ever actually gone up against a vampire? I mean a real one? Because I've met two and I have to say, neither of them seemed even slightly bothered by sunlight. In fact, Aaron came to talk to Jeremy about some Council stuff a couple of weeks ago and afterwards he went out into the garden to work on his tan so…" There he trails off; looking at me slightly pityingly as if I'm some sort of Girl Scout who's just had the last of her cookies stolen. I think I'd probably enjoy punching him some more, but I can keep my temper in check, just for a little while.

Stupid man person.

I suppose it's not his fault he doesn't understand what a Slayer really is, sometimes I don't get it myself, and hey – I'm living it! So, instead of going medieval on his ass and introducing his forehead to his colon, I take a couple of deep breaths and reply through my teeth.

"You're probably right, poor girly little me. Whoops I'm so blonde I'm almost _Buffy!_"

I spit the last bit with a little more venom than necessary and sigh, I guess someone's still not entirely over her Summers issues. Nick thankfully hasn't got a clue what I'm talking about because just he looks at me with his head leaning slightly to the side and asks in a puzzled tone of voice, "Is that California speak for stupid?"

Again, the urge to smack him takes a hold of me almost before I can beat it down and I swear I see my arm twitch slightly, but willpower wins out in the end and I just nod with a curt "Yup".

I think that maybe it's my sadistic side coming out to play but part of me is really hoping that upon introduction to my vamps, Nick'll experience a freak-out of colossal proportions, shriek like a girl and run straight home to sob into Clayton's sheets. Or maybe he'll accidentally get bitten, it's not like I can be everywhere at the same time, and if he can't be bothered to take my advice seriously, it probably won't be my fault if he get's eaten…as such.

Unfortunately I don't think this is very likely, despite the blatant disrespect the wolves are paying my obvious superiority (for example, not cowering when I bounce past, the bastards!) they all move with an elegance and assurance, in Clay's case blatant arrogance, that tells me they know how to handle themselves in a fight. Not really surprising when you think about it.

While I've been pondering such pleasant thoughts, we've been walking along in a tense silence, until Nick grabs me sharply by the arm and pulls me up short. This reminds me, we should really have a little chat about such things as _'Basic Rules when on Patrol with Faith'_: Number One - No Touching. Number Two - _Still_ No Touching.

Nick has brought us up short in the mouth of a little alley, facing some sort of abandoned tenement building, - the windows are barred up but the front door is hanging off its hinges and there are no people about.

We left a generous amount of distance between ourselves and the vamps, seeing as Nick could track them there was no need for us to maintain line of sight so I guess they must have gone inside already. I hope I was right and they really did lead us to their nest, all this generous not beating on the wolf boy and relying on someone else to pick up the slack is just so severely out of character. Maybe I'm coming down with something? Such as the Plague perhaps? I only hope it's contagious.

"They went in there," whispers Nick in the dark, "maybe two, three minutes ago."

"Goodie," I whisper back, handing him a stake "right, take this and remember to aim for the heart. Don't let them rush you and there's no shame in screaming. Lose your stake and you're probably dead so you might want to try and hang on to it," Taking a deep breath, I make my way across the street to the waiting open door and into the darkness behind it, "Here goes."

I love the time before I go into battle. Those few moments where all I can feel is the adrenaline rushing through my system, my accentuated senses picking up the slightest sounds and signs of movement. I sometimes wonder what the few civilians who witness a Slayer in battle experience us as, now that there are more than just B and myself, I've had ample opportunity to watch Slayers spar, and I gotta say, we rock!

Nick and I have done a basic sweep of the abandoned building and have found nothing more untoward than a couple of used needles and a few empty bottles of paint-thinner. Clearly the previous tenants we're gentlemen of class and style…mustn't be sexist though, I'm sure there were ladies present also.

After we quietly searched the ground and first floor, Nick gestured towards the door to the basement, suspiciously new and sturdy in appearance. Clearly, your better vamps will repair their own damages, how thoughtful.

Pushing the stupid thing does absolutely no good, looks like it's locked from the inside or something, so I waste a few seconds pondering the mysteries of the shiny door - it really is quite special looking and I'd hate to scratch the paintwork…then again, why care?

With that thought, I toss a grin at Nick over my shoulder and kick the door in. Since I'm still looking at him, I see his eyes widen in surprise when the hinges give out and the door crashes inwards, and must admit I'm feeling pretty validated until I realise that the whole kicking thing was pretty much unnecessary as the stupid door would have opened if only I'd have had the sense to pull.

Right, moving swiftly onwards, let's pretend that was meant to happen.

"Well,' comes the dreaded soft whisper over my right shoulder, "I think it's safe to say the door is no longer a threat to humanity. Our job here is done!"

And then he giggles.

There really is nothing more irritating than people who laugh at their own retarded jokes. Briefly I consider counting backwards in Spanish, apparently it's supposed to help you get a reign on your anger, but then I remember that the only Spanish I know is "Quatro cervecas pronto por favour" and I'm not even entirely certain any of that is correct, so instead I opt for violence.

Right on cue, the first vampy henchmen appear at the bottom of the stairs that were revealed when I…opened…the door.

Unfortunately, my interruption only seems to warrant two minions, though the first one up the steps is mightily ugly, even where the usual standards are concerned and his looks aren't improved by the rhinestone vest-type thing he's wearing over a carpenter's shirt. Holy crap, I hope he died I that outfit, I'd hate to think there's a semi-naked Elvis fan out there somewhere, sobbing over the loss of his ensemble. Shuddering with mild distaste, I adopt a perky smile and in a bright chirpy voice commence with the quipping. Say what you want about B, she's right about one thing, not only do brainless pop-culture related remarks confuse and befuddle the undead, it also lends a much needed element of hilarity to an evening chocka-full with Slayage when the demon you just beheaded still wears a look of confusion at your earlier reference to Mary-Kate and Ashley.

"Hello there sir, I'm from the Neighbourhood Watch Association and I'm afraid that numerous reports of serious Health and Safety Violations on these premises have come to my attention. Persistant lingering smells, no lights in the hallways and will you just look at that door, I mean, can you say lawsuit?"

"Err…lawsuit?"

Rhinestone Vamp is still looking mildly perplexed when I lunge and stab him through the heart with my stake, one down – indeterminate number to go.

How I love my job.

The vamp behind his recently departed comrade is still moving up the stairs, propelled no doubt both by momentum and stupidity. He comes to a halt mere inches from me and stares at his former partner's leftovers with a mixture of confusion and…well, confusion. Clearly, he's not so bright.

"Dear God, will you look at that!" I shriek in a high falsetto, "that's got to be the worst dandruff problem I've ever seen!"

Before minion number two can come to his somewhat restricted senses, I make short work of him with a dash of holy water to the eyes, (sizzles nicely, as always) and another well placed stake to the chest.

Stepping deftly back to avoid the shower of ashes, I take advantage of the momentary lack of bad guys to turn around to face Nick and am very satisfied indeed to note that his jaw is hanging somewhere around his ankles.

Unfortunately, not literally.

One of my greatest assets (other than my fantastic rack of course) is my astounding lack of grace under pressure, so it is with great pleasure that I stick out my tongue at the befuddled werewolf before me, it's the least that he deserves.

"Nah nana nana na!" Call me juvenile, but I can't help but do a little dance at the top of the stairs, "Who's right about the vampires? That's right, ME! You know, I really hate having to stoop to this level, but oh yeah, I TOLD YOU SO! I think I've now sufficiently demonstrated that not only does Holy Water work, but I rock and you suck. Whoo me!"

The only response I get is a mild gurgling sound and a faint pointing motion at the two small piles of dust at my feet. Well, I guess it beat's screaming.

"Now what do you say we go clean out the rest of the vermin and then you can buy me dinner," Pausing slightly to take inventory of my weapons…three stakes and my stiletto in the boot - I continue, "Oh and Nick dear, do close your mouth."

Grinning at the still slightly gobsmacked looking werewolf, I turn and bound lightly down the basement steps, three at a time.

God, it's good to be me.


	10. Chapter ten

AN: Uhm, quick question, is anyone actually reading this? I'm thinking of just not updating anymore because the response has been zero, so if you are reading this drop me a review so I know to continue writing.

I've dealt with a lot of scary things in my time, slain demons that would boggle the mind, but none of it has quite prepared me for the sight that greeted Nick and myself when we reached the basement of vamp central.

When I left Nick at the top of the stairs, I skipped down to the bottom where I could see a set of swinging doors. From behind them, I could catch vague snatches of music but not something I could identify from this distance, whatever it was wasn't turned up very high.

Beckoning to Nick who was still swaying slightly near the decimated entrance, I pushed on one of the doors and stepped through.

And stopped.

"Err…huh?" Not the most eloquent of quippy Slayer introductions, but all logical thought had left me at the sight before me.

I was standing in a large hall, eerily similar to my old high school gymnasium. The whole place was decked out in black and orange crepe complete with glittery bats and uber fake spider webs. There was even a disco ball and a banner proclaiming 'HAPPY 40TH BIRTHDAY' only someone had used a black marker pen to cross out the forty and instead inserted 430 and the word 'Master'.

All in all, the place looked like someone with very bad taste had raided a Post-Halloween discount sale and used their purchases – quite liberally at that.

Apparently Nick, who'd finally managed to pull himself together and come on down agreed with me because he pulled up on my left side, looked around and in a puzzled voice asked: "Uh…isn't it May?"

"Yep. I told you the legions of the underworld were evil, just look at what they're doing now! Perverting man's time-honoured festivals. With confetti!"

"Yeah and not very well either. Oh, I think we interrupted those bloodsuckers earlier, look at this," Nick directed my attention towards a table near the feeble Birthday banner, covered in the worlds ugliest tablecloth and strewn with scissors, sticky-tape, and two different sorts of wrapping paper, both in distasteful shades of virulent orange.

"Dear god," I exclaimed, unwittingly echoing Giles, "we've interrupted the minions planning their evil Puppetmaster's birthday bash! Look…they're giving him a gift certificate for Harrods and a life supply of Turtlewax. Wow, this officially wins the prize for what has got to be the crappiest present, like…ever!"

"Yeah, that and a jar of pickled baby eyeballs, can I just say, ew?" Nick said, surreptiously wiping the hand that had touched the jar on the back of his jeans.

"Apparently, they're quite delicious. Or so I've been told," I said nodding sagely, while wrinkling my nose at the pickled goodies and the appalling décor.

Evil, pure evil.

"So, when do you think the big event is supposed to be going down, from the looks of things…" that's as far as Nick got before he cut himself off by jumping on me.

In a completely nonsexual manner I promise you, there was little to no romance in the way he threw myself at me, head first, limbs flailing. He managed to muffle my –somewhat - undignified squawk and drag me under the table just in time, with a well placed elbow to the ribs and a hand over my mouth.

Turns out, his super duper doggie hearing had managed to pick up noises coming from the stairs behind us, noises I had not picked up as I'd been busy yammering.

Whoops! I think this mean I lose one Slayer Stealth Bonus point. Only another gazillion to go.

"Shut the fuck up," he hissed at me when I tried to point out that he could now remove his hand from my rear end "I don't fancy being lunch, err…dinner…on what time scale do these things operate anyway?"

Glaring slightly - the effect being ruined by my untimely cross-eyedness - he was situated slightly to my right and behind me and while a Slayer can do many things, rotating her eyeballs is unfortunately not one of them - I hissed "Greenwich Meantime" and busied myself picking tinsel from my hair. That damn stuff really just gets everywhere.

"Really?" hissed Nick, "those critters just get weirder and weirder."

I would have agreed, except I arrived at this conclusion seven years ago when my first Watcher introduced me to my first vamp.

Ah, the good old days….if I missed them any less I'd be dead.

Having finished removing all the orange and black scraps of tinsel from my hair, I evaluated our current situation. Nick and I were huddled under a table that would no doubt shortly be surrounded by several busy-bee minions while they went about wrapping their boss's dastardly birthday gifts. Therefore, it might be an idea to move to somewhat less conspicuous location…such as anywhere really.

Pondering this very thought, I cast my beady eye about the room.

Large hall, not much cover except in the lower right hand corner where I could see some shutters. Squinting slightly, I focused and bit back a whoop of triumph. Instead, I slapped Nick around the head in a celebratory manner and whispering "Come on," dragged him from under the desk.

We quickly scuttled over to the shutters which turned out to be a locked down bar, just as I'd hoped. As quietly as possible I snapped off the padlock that held the shutters closed, threw myself over the bar counter and motioned for Nick to do the same.

Checking that the bar was really empty, we would have been sitting ducks if it turned out they were using this bar later, I drew down the shutters leaving only a tiny slit for us to peak though and breathed a sign of relief.

Not a moment too soon.

Now, I am not a coward.

I want to go on record as having said that because right now I'm visualising my audience booing loudly and throwing popcorn at the stage. Sure, I'd like nothing more than to explode into action and kill every single critter out there, hell; the decorations alone deserve a thorough staking.

However, several years of not dying have taught me that it's a good idea to assess a situation before jumping in, proverbial guns blazing.

It's a good thing I did.

Not a minute after Nick and I took up our new positions, several shambling forms came into view. Two were clearly vampires in full gameface, although one of them was the most insipid looking vamp I've ever seen in my life. The third shape was a Ankari demon.

I've only ever tangled with one of those before and it was pretty nasty. Very tall and gangly looking, at the slightest sign of danger, the Ankari literally explode into a mass of claws and tentacles, with an offensive body odour to match.

I was ripped from my musings on this pleasant subject by Nick who was shaking me, and not very gently either.

"What? Stop shaking me, I get seasick!"

"You zoned out," he said raising his eyebrow at me in the accustomed patronising manner. At some point he'd figured out how much that particular gesture annoyed me and now used it as often as possible, "what is that thing out there?"

"Ankari demon," I told him absently, trying to remember anything and everything I'd ever read about this particular breed of demon, "allergic to nylon, they are supposed to be stingy and miserable. And they have an inexplicable fondness for cheese."

"Well in that case it's simple," I heard Nick's voice, dripping with in my opinion unnecessary amounts of sarcasm, "we lure it out into the open, possibly by waving a cheese platter under its nose – I'm thinking a nice Brie, maybe some Roquefort - and then we strangle it with your tights."

I fixed Nick with a glare filled with just the right amount of condescension deserving of his comment and didn't bother answering.

Honestly.

As if I wear tights.

Coming back to the problem at hand, I postponed Ankari slayage strategy for a time when I might need it and decided to eavesdrop instead.

From what I'd managed to gather so far, vamp1 was pissed with vamp2 for using all the fabric softener and vamp2 was worried that their Unholy Master might be stuck in traffic. All in all, an overwhelming supernatural threat these guys were not.

They didn't even notice the pointed absences of the two vamps Nick and I staked earlier!

I was about to dismiss this as a botched job badly done and just emerge from my hiding place to rain down the fury on their scabby heads, when the doors swung open.

Apparently the rest of the party had arrived.

Over the next half hour, while Nick and I crouched and waited, we managed to count at last 60 vampires, a pair of Abraxis demons complete with pouch bearing offspring, a human looking guy with a pack of hellhounds all sporting matching satin bows, two Scintian Deathbearers, a gnome, three fury little things Nick kept insisting were Ewoks and a couple of creatures I wouldn't know how to identify.

When the third vamp vomited his A-pos cocktail against the bar shutters I decided the time for being charitable had past.

"No vampires in Stonehaven," I sniped in an unflattering copy of Clayton-I-Am-A-Ginormous-Asshole-Danvers, "I'm a big and scary werewolf, demons of the underworld beware."

"Idiot!" I snapped at Nick, "This is all your fault!"

"What?" he spluttered which incidentally made him look highly unattractive and slightly insipid, "how is this anything to do with me?"

"Don't argue with me," I growled, "I have superpowers."

This was going to be a long night.


End file.
